


sakusa kiyoomi is....an uncle?

by miyaudrey



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Author tried their best, Character Study, Established Relationship, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Fluff, I AM A MESS, M/M, Sakusa Kiyoomi’s Family, Soft Miya Atsumu, a witty twelve year old makes an appearance, all they do is insult Atsumu it’s kinda funny, atsumu loves him so much, excessive use of the word damn, it’s just clown on atsumu hours, kiyoomi is a great uncle, seriously can I stop humiliating him for two seconds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26752021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miyaudrey/pseuds/miyaudrey
Summary: “Oh, by the way, my nieces and nephews are going to be there.”“Your what now?”Or, Atsumu finds out three hours prior to a Sakusa family gathering that Kiyoomi is an uncle.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 50
Kudos: 981
Collections: kagsivity's fic archive, mm yæs





	sakusa kiyoomi is....an uncle?

He didn’t quite understand.

Atsumu thought he knew most things about Kiyoomi. The things that made him uncomfortable, his favourite foods, the kinds of things he liked to wear, his favourite kinds of kisses, his childhood memories, the whole lot. They’ve known each other for _years_ , for crying out loud! Even though they’ve only been together for the past eight months, you’d think that’s enough time to find out your boyfriend is an uncle, right?

“Atsumu.” Kiyoomi’s clicking fingers in front of his face startled him from thought. He returned both hands to the steering wheel before Atsumu could even register the motion. “Why do you look so pressed?”

Atsumu scoffs in disbelief. “Well, Omi, ya decided to wait until now to tell me that you’re an uncle! It’s like the world has tilted on its axis!”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

“I’m aware!” he grumbles, exasperated. “God, how many of ‘em are there?”

Kiyoomi hums, face unchanging. It’s weird that he can do anything without even twitching a muscle. Atsumu is awful at preventing even the slightest hint of emotion from bleeding into his expressions. “Hana has three and Sayoko has two. So there’s five of them. Three boys, two girls. The oldest is twelve, the youngest is five.”

Atsumu has known for a long time that Kiyoomi’s sisters were much older than him. When he was starting elementary school, the eldest had just gotten her first proper nine-to-five job. Kiyoomi was the outlier in a family dominated by confident adult women by the time he was entering middle school—the quiet, stoic baby brother amongst outgoing older sisters, a stark difference in personality between them. He took after his father in that regard, a spitting image in looks and a carbon copy in personality.

Yet still, no one knows where his towering height came from.

Atsumu grew up with Osamu, and only Osamu, as the sole sibling relationship he had. They fought, they played, they worked hard and they thrived, all together. Having been essentially joined at the hip for most of their life only to be peeled apart by the prospect of their respective futures colliding sucked, and Kiyoomi didn’t have the understanding of that. He couldn’t bond with his sisters the way Atsumu could with Osamu. The twins were mere minutes apart in age (and, arguably and in reverse, maturity), whilst for Kiyoomi and his sisters it was over a decade. He was closer in age to his eldest niece than both of his sisters.

“Are ya, like—“ Atsumu pressed gently, not wanting to word his question insensitively. “Are ya close with them?”

“The kids?” 

Atsumu hums a yes in response, smiling at his phrasing. _The kids_. So damn endearing.

“I mean, yeah, of course. They’re my family.” Kiyoomi responded, furrowing his brow. Like it was confusing to him that Atsumu would even consider that he wouldn’t be.

“Yeah, but Omi,” he chuckles, turning in the leather seat to face Kiyoomi, even though he couldn’t face him back. His eyes stay on the road ahead, only checking his peripherals for a brief moment. “You _can’t stand_ kids. You get so uncomfortable when they all try and touch ya at games and stuff. I’m just surprised, is all.”

“Well, obviously I don’t want random children touching me. Who knows who they are, where they’ve been. Also, all kids are gross. That’s just a fact. But I can deal with them if they’re my family.”

Atsumu can’t resist the fond smile that creeps its way into his face. He’s always been the more family-oriented of the two, having grown up with a family where you couldn’t feel lonely for too long. His parents were ordinary, but they were always close, affectionate, and loving. Osamu was always there to punch some sense into him when he got himself down. They even had pets, growing up.

Kiyoomi’s family was loving, but distant. His parents were constantly working, his sisters were always studying, and Kiyoomi was always alone.

“Yeah?” Atsumu is unable to hide the smile creeping into his voice, but attempts to hide the beginnings of a grin behind a fist. He lays the opposite hand on his thigh, palm up. “I’m glad then. I’m excited to meet ‘em.”

Kiyoomi’s gaze flicks to the side for a quick second before returning it to the front, but he gets the hint, lifting one hand off the wheel to rest in Atsumu’s and clasping their fingers gently together. It was a comforting gesture, beginning to unravel the messy, fraying knot of nerves that Atsumu barely noticed festering low in his gut. If Kiyoomi wasn’t worried about it, what did he have to worry about?

“They’ve been begging to meet you, actually.”

Atsumu almost tears a muscle at the speed he twists his head around to face Kiyoomi, wide-eyed again. “ _What?!_ ”

“Sayoko told the older ones that I have a boyfriend a few weeks after we started going out, and they guessed it was you when they watched our matches because she had described you as the _‘handsome one with the soft, fluffy hair’_.” Atsumu smirks in gratification, knowing he’s won the family over already. Nothing else has really sunk in yet. “Now they plead with me to bring you every time I go visit.”

Atsumu’s thought process goes a little like this: 

He found out only three hours ago that his dear boyfriend, the one he’s known for almost a decade, has had nieces and nephews (“Oh, by the way, my nieces and nephews are going to be there.” “Your _what now?_ ”) since he was a bright-eyed twelve year old with the beginnings of a mysophobic fixation, manifesting itself into a strange fascination with hygiene and control. Somehow, despite all that, Kiyoomi was able to deal with a new baby in the family—and everyone, especially him, knows that babies can be icky and gross. Yet here he is, five of those babies later, and Kiyoomi loves them. He supposes they love him back, partly being the famous face in the family and all. What’s more, apparently they love Atsumu too! They have for months! But he—

“So you’re telling me they’ve known about me _loooong_ before I knew about 'em? We’re talking months here, Omi. How the fuck did you forget to tell me about 'em even though they’ve been beggin' to meet me for months?” 

Kiyoomi simply shrugs. Bastard.

“I can’t believe you!”

He taps his fingers against the steering wheel, watching the traffic lights intently. Atsumu braces a hand against the door. The last thing he needed was a seatbelt burn seared across his throat before meeting part of the extended family. “I honestly thought I told you. I don’t know how I forgot. I do have a lot of family, though.” 

“Omi-kun. You. Are. An. _Uncle_. And I had no clue! What if I never found out?” 

“That’s a little extreme.” Kiyoomi chuckled, slowly pressing his foot down as the light changed, just another green light towards sending Atsumu to his demise. The acceleration was gentler than he anticipated. He clearly wasn’t anywhere near as nervous as Atsumu, who was practically vibrating in place. Kiyoomi squeezed his hand. Comforting. “Are you nervous?”

“Would ya think it’s stupid if I am?”

“Not at all.” Kiyoomi brought the back of Atsumu’s hand up to his lips. What had he done to deserve something this good in his life? “You don’t have to be worried though. They’re all kind of like you. They’ll love you. If I do, there’s no doubt they will.”

A mumbled _thank you, Omi,_ and a reciprocated kiss to his knuckles later, Atsumu leans back against the headrest, looking out at the clouds on the horizon.

Maybe he was rusty when it came to being around and impressing children, especially those who were close to someone he really loved. But he wasn’t at it alone, Kiyoomi was there all the way. So what could he possibly have to lose?

  
  


———

  
  


“ _Kiyoooooooooomi!_ ”

Atsumu hasn’t heard a voice quite that shrill in a long time—so long that it grates on his ears painfully, and he winces like it slapped him in the face. He might as well have been. All things considered, he hasn’t purposefully listened to a child for a while. Most of the squeals and complaints from children at their games became easy to tune out after years of it.

Kiyoomi lets out an _oof_ from beside him, a young girl almost half his size (both in weight and stature—she was tiny) smacking right into his front and wrapping her arms around his torso tightly.

Two young boys, seemingly slightly older than the one currently plastered to Kiyoomi, crowd around, cheers of _yay, Kiyoomi!_ and _welcome back!_ echoing through the small genkan. Atsumu hears a distant _oh! I think Kiyoomi is here with Atsumu-kun!_ and the anxious knot from earlier immediately reforms in his throat, beating in time with the palpitations in his chest. His body urges him to pull away, leave space, because suddenly he understands why Kiyoomi hated crowds so much. There’s only three kids under the age of ten swarming them and he already wants to flee out the door, back into the car, and excuse himself with _I have a very sudden and extreme case of food poisonin’ and I must leave immediately, don’t want the kids to fall very ill, do we?_ but knowing how Kiyoomi is, no one's gonna buy it. 

He untangles his fingers with Kiyoomi’s and swivels around, aimlessly fiddling with his laces. The latter has taken to kneeling down properly to hug bundles of joy in front of him. Damn him, he’s smiling. He’s smiling at them and they haven’t even _acknowledged_ Atsumu yet, so why is he still feeling like his insides are gonna come up and out his mouth?

“Hey,” Kiyoomi’s blessed presence is beside him suddenly, gripping onto his shoulder for balance as he pulls at his laces. He’s not even looking at his own shoes. “Dad said the slippers in the packet are for you. He’s kind of all about being clean too, just not as bad as me.”

“Mhmm.” If Kiyoomi’s words were physical, you could probably see them flying through one ear and out the other. Which of course, he notices. 

“Are you still nervous? Hey, it’s fine. They’re a little loud and excitable but nothing you’re not already used to, right?” He assured, with a little smile to match the words. If Atsumu’s knees had wobbled slightly a moment later, he would say it was because  _ Omi, you’re leaning all your weight onto me, did you forget you’re a giant, _ and not because receiving any sort of affection from him still made him feel like he carried a butterfly enclosure within his stomach—an uncomfortable warmth radiating from within, staining his skin red, and wings fluttering relentlessly against his ribcage.  _ Seriously _ , would it ever go away? Would he ever stop feeling such an immense mix of nerves and joy whenever he so much as looked at him? Would his limbs stop turning to jelly just because he was in love?

“I’m okay. Yeah. Just—“ He paused, dragging the slippers onto his feet, crumpling the packaging under his arm. Kiyoomi grabs it from him and places it on a nearby bookshelf. “I got a little overwhelmed. I’m not used to this.”

Kiyoomi clutches his hand again, somehow suddenly wearing his slippers, which was damn quick. Atsumu exhales, fighting against the knot again. It was wound up so tightly from his momentary panic that his only choice was to sever the rope— to bite the bullet and just be uncle Kiyoomi’s _extremely handsome and awesome boyfriend_ , which he usually did every single day with minimal failure. It shouldn’t be as hard as his mind is convincing him it will be.

“It’s fine, ‘Tsumu. Mum and dad love you, you know that. The girls like you. You’ll barely need to do anything to impress the kids, trust me.”

With that, Kiyoomi leads the way through the hallway, rubbing his thumb soothingly across Atsumu’s knuckles. The knot now sat as two frayed pieces in his chest, fiercely torn apart by courage.

———

Atsumu had met his parents before, early into the relationship. Whilst Kiyoomi was everything like this father and more, his mother was almost entirely the opposite. She was tiny, first of all—Atsumu felt so awkwardly massive whenever he had to look down at her—and full of boundless energy, ready to mingle. She was always chatting, always playfully flirting, always busy with her usual ventures. In many ways, Atsumu couldn’t comprehend that many similarities between them besides the dark eyes and, over time, some of the mannerisms that Kiyoomi exhibited. The blunt gesticulating during conversations. The cheeky smirk gracing their lips when they found something particularly entertaining to poke fun at. The casual demeanour of confidence that revealed itself in their posture, a subtle ode to their self-awareness. Even though they were close to being a complete contrast of one another, the little things stood out.

The Sakusa family was known for their three women, simply because they were extroverted, beautiful people who had plenty of connections and made themselves known. This was not exclusive to their everyday lives. It extended into their socialisation, too.

Cheers of welcome, handshakes from the husbands of Hana and Sayoko and one kiss each on the cheek from the matriarch later, and Atsumu found himself standing beside Kiyoomi between the kitchen and the dining room area, passively listening to the enthusiastic stories of Hana’s husband’s office job and wiping the condensation from his dripping beer bottle onto his pants. He’s glad the dude is having a good time, but he doesn’t know how long he can stand here listening to him reiterate that _he totally hit the fire alarm button on accident!_ Kiyoomi is holding a small dish of umeboshi, shovelling them into his mouth like it’s popcorn. It’s crazy endearing, and Atsumu kinda just wants to look at him instead.

“Hi, Kiyoomi.” A slow, almost droning voice from behind drags their attention from the conversation before them.

A young girl, no older than twelve, sits at the low table in the middle of the dining room with a lazy smile. A boy of similar age sits beside her, a blank expression across his face and his fingers slowly tapping across the wood. The three younger children from earlier settle around with them, chattering aimlessly the way kids did when they were excited. _That’s all of ‘em,_ Atsumu figures. _It doesn’t seem as dauntin’ when they’re all sittin’ there._

Kiyoomi chuckles, immediately making way to the low table. “Hey, how’re you doing?” 

All Atsumu could do was level the scene before him with a look of disbelief and follow. He belatedly realises that the gazes of the older two were aimed at _him_ , and him only.

“Good, good. What about you?” The girl drawls, pointedly raising an eyebrow and glancing towards Atsumu out the corner of her eye. There’s already heat blossoming over his cheeks and he hasn’t even said a word yet. 

Kiyoomi seems to catch on, sending a sideways smirk and a raised eyebrow,  _ damn that eyebrow _ , and exhaling a soft laugh. “Yeah, you know, just dealing with this pain in the ass.”

Atsumu immediately chokes on his saliva and sputters, because apparently he can’t act like a normal, respectable human for two seconds. 

He can _almos_ t hear Osamu laughing at his misfortune from all the way in Hyogo.

“Omi-omi! Ya haven’t even introduced me ye—“

“What did he just call you? _Omi-omi_?” The girl’s smile morphs into a smirk mirroring Kiyoomi’s. Atsumu can almost see the resemblance between them. “That’s a new one!”

This kid’s got sass! Atsumu is left floundering like a fish out of water whilst these children—even the expressionless one, who’s now cracking a smile—are snickering at him! Yes, these children include Kiyoomi, who’s joined them and is hiding breathy chuckles behind his hand.

“He’s Atsumu.” Kiyoomi’s still giggling. This was surreal. He never willingly let his guard down to become so expressive whenever they were with anyone else, but here he was, laughing at Atsumu’s expense with someone half their age. “Atsumu, this is Umeko. She’s funny.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can tell!” he huffs, childishly, before adding: “Nice to meet ya.”

She tilts her head in a nod. Kiyoomi continues, “That’s Gota. He’s probably the most like me.”

Atsumu watches the boy’s face, who has now taken to reading a book that he seemingly produced out of nowhere with a look of intense concentration. His hair is wavy in a way that’s halfway to Kiyoomi’s, and his lankiness is evident by the way his legs are folded beneath him, all grasshopper-like and thin. 

The two young boys wrangling each other to the floor are introduced as Junto and Kaito, troublesome twins with the tendency to bend each other backwards trying to build themselves up— _They’ll get over it eventually, like you and Osamu-san did_ —and voices with volumes possibly exceeding the highest capacity that their eardrums could take. 

“ _Kiyooooomiiiiii!_ ” that piercing voice was close to his ear now, high-pitched in ways that didn’t seem natural. _No honorifics, even from the kids?_ Atsumu thought. “I cleaned my hands, can I sit?”

To Atsumu’s surprise, Kiyoomi pats his legs where they’re crossed, inviting her (whose name is Akiko, he learns) to plop down onto his lap. Then, all he does is lean back on his hands and listen to Umeko listing off her recent endeavours, occasionally brushing the young girl’s hair down into a neat part. She fiddles with a toy, one that Atsumu didn’t even see her carry over, and hums a random tune, just as a kid lost in the comfort of their own little bubble would. He almost feels the need to rub his eyes and bug out in disbelief, akin to an old-timey cartoon character, because _who is this man and what the fuck has he done with Omi_?

“You good there?” 

For all his staring, Atsumu still can’t figure out why his reaction speeds are so slow, like the trickle of honey. It takes him more than five seconds to recalibrate his brain and blink back to the present, with Kiyoomi’s beautiful, shapely brows raised in amusement. Amusement at his unfortunate self.

“This isn’t like ya. It’s kinda bizarre to see.”

“I told you. It’s different.”

He can’t say anything more to that.

  
  


———

  
  


Later, when the evening sun begins to permeate the atmosphere and leaves an awkward glare in its wake, Atsumu finds himself separated from Kiyoomi, lost in unfamiliar territory. His immediate family is smaller, having only he and Osamu as the sole children (who are _definitely_ not ready for children, mind you, so there won’t be any nieces or nephews anytime soon) and their private, long-suffering parents as their companions through every family dinner, every holiday party, every school event. Their love was a quiet one, always present and always felt, but never grand and explosive. Kiyoomi’s family, on the other hand, is vibrant in places Atsumu’s family isn’t. They fill missing spaces from their perfect puzzle with their own resized, hand-cut pieces, making do with what they have and smoothing out the edges. They’re shamelessly flawed to the point where Atsumu’s almost impressed—he’s never heard stories about extended family split-ups ending in resounding laughter.

It’s pleasant, being around them. Even if he can’t figure out the mystery that is Kiyoomi’s placement in the weaving of their lives. He doesn’t fully understand how a group of people so different to him are able to simply understand and accommodate him, and vice versa. He doesn’t know if he ever will.

Atsumu spends a good half an hour standing by the window with Kiyoomi’s mother, listening as she aimlessly rambles about this, that, and the other thing. There is more than one insult towards _‘her dear, dear son’_ disguised as a compliment in her spiel, so Atsumu does what he’s best at. He reciprocates with anecdotes from days holed in the gym, mishaps from their cooking at home (home—Atsumu still couldn’t believe he had the fortune of sharing the concept with Kiyoomi) and days of seemingly futile pining that, very thankfully, ended in a successfully scored date and an almost—but not!—concussion. Not that that’s the point.

“Speaking of,” Kiyoomi’s mother turns, placing the wine glass she had been cradling for the past three hours on the counter behind her. How many times had he seen her refill that? He lost count. He was still on his second beer. “You should probably go save him. I’m surprised he’s lasted so long out there.”

Kiyoomi had spent the previous half an hour accompanying the kids in the small yard, doing what, Atsumu couldn’t tell. Fulfilling uncle duties, maybe, whatever they may be. 

The sliding door clearly served as a barrier between the gentle conversation inside and the commotion outside, because Atsumu was suddenly hit by a cocktail of loud voices upon opening it, the warmth in the air catching him by surprise at the same time. He spots a children’s plastic dining table in the middle of the small yard, with Kiyoomi sat in front of it. He turns his head at the squeak of the door, smiling softly. He’s eating something colourful, and it’s staining corners of his lips. A wave of affection threatens to climb up Atsumu's throat, but he swallows it down easily.

“Hey,” he says, in a softer voice than he expected himself to use. It’s weird how just seeing Kiyoomi, looking so in place surrounded by what usually brought him so much discomfort, makes Atsumu feel so at ease. It was something he wished he could record and watch back on whenever he needed it. Maybe when he couldn’t fall asleep. Maybe when he was stressed. Maybe when he felt like things weren’t feeling great with his own family. 

“Hey yourself.” Kiyoomi responds, balancing his plate on one knee, crossed over the other. He was seated on one of the colourful plastic children’s chairs, accentuating his long limbs and making him look larger than life, especially with Umeko and Gota sitting on either side. “Take a seat. If you can fit.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes. The bastard was bigger than him and had the audacity to make jokes about his stature, just to make his own niece and nephew resolve into snickers.

He _did_ fit in the chair, thank you very much. Barely, but either way.

“So,” Umeko started, stabbing her fork into one of the strawberries scattered across her plate. The fruit juices left on the plate were such a strikingly bright red that it reminded Atsumu of blood. Maybe it was foreshadowing, considering he felt like she was about to absolutely annihilate him with another dig. It would only be the umpteenth time this entire evening. “Atsumu-chan.”

Atsumu gulped. Comically. You could practically hear it across the courtyard. “Yes, _Umeko-sama_?”

She seems impressed, raising her brows. Kiyoomi was looking at him weirdly again, the perfect angle of his single raised eyebrow elevating those perfect moles on his forehead. How many times had he done that tonight? At this rate, his muscles were bound to cramp and his brow would be stuck there.

“Tell me the story of how you and _Omi-omi_ over here met.”

Atsumu decides, foolishly, to take a sip of his beer in that moment, immediately inhaling it and choking. For the second time that day. Kiyoomi huffs a little _oh for fuck’s sake, Atsumu_ and reaches one long arm around Gota to pound on his back. Peak romance. 

Also, he was right. She really was out for blood when it came to Atsumu. How did she know how to get him where it hurts? It took a lot of creative thought to come up with that nickname, and she’s ruthlessly slandering it! He’s so caught up in feeling insulted by someone half his own age that he almost forgets that he was even asked a question.

“Uh—woah, okay, one sec—“ he heaves, trying to salvage what’s left of his dignity, which probably isn’t much. “Argh—okay. Well, I properly met him in high school. I think we might’ve played against each other in the middle school tournaments though.”

“ _Of course_ it was volleyball. So predictable.” Umeko drones, smacking a palm to her forehead. Kiyoomi snorts. “Wait, does that mean that technically Motoya-san is the reason you guys are together?”

At the same time Atsumu squarks a “ _What?!_ ”, Kiyoomi shrugs and mutters a “I suppose so.”

“What do ya mean, Komori-san is the reason we’re together? I’m pretty sure I had met Omi before I met him.” Atsumu inquires, because he’s really not understanding any of the conversation.

“No, Atsumu. Motoya introduced me to volleyball. That’s what she means.” 

“ _Ah_ , I see! In that case, yes, I ‘spose he did.”

Umeko leans forward, elbows on knees and chin resting on palms. She nods, coaxing him to continue.

“I met him properly on the first youth training camp we went on, in first year.” he pauses, looks to Kiyoomi to confirm, and receives a single nod. He’s back to eating from his plate of fruit. “Omi was like, fifteen, and I think he was shorter than me at this point. I still had my natural hair. I think he even had braces. It was kinda cute.

“But we didn’t really talk until the second year training camp, I think. I was much more handsome—no Omi, my hair was _not_ piss coloured, excuse my language—but we both were a lot different. Omi was way taller. So mysterious, too. I think I properly talked to him there, and then we spoke every now and then at nationals and all that. I thought he was cute but like.... That was the extent of it.”

“You’re telling me he _didn’t_ sweep you off your feet and you _didn’t_ become high school sweethearts?” Umeko gawks, sarcastically. Kiyoomi snorts once again, shaking his head. “How disappointing.”

“God, Omi, she’s just like ya!” Atsumu says, because it’s true. All of her little quips and comments are reminiscent of Kiyoomi during practice, during team nights out, during the moments where Atsumu is just being so damn bothersome. They both have the ability to dish out line after line of witty banter and sardonic humour. He was mostly impressed with how good she was at it at only the age of twelve. By the time she was their age, she could probably shoot people down on the spot with a single sentence.

“Anyway,” Kiyoomi disregards Atsumu’s comment, because that’s one thing he’s good at. “We met again when I joined the jackals. He flirted with me for months, I tried to ignore him. But he’s kind of like a stray animal that follows you everywhere, but you don’t want to send it away because it’s kind of endearing.”

“Did you really just compare me to a stray animal?”

“So I asked him out. He was surprised, for some reason. But now, here we are. I’m not even sick of him yet.” he finishes both his speech and his fruit, placing it on the table in front of him. His lips are red and shiny from the berry juice. Atsumu badly wants to lean forward and kiss him and express whatever fond feelings he’s had toward Kiyoomi and his uncle-ness, but decides against it. There are two pre-adolescent children sitting beside them, eagerly listening to their stories and banter, and two other children roughhousing further into the small yard. Not the time or place.

“That’s cute.” Gota speaks up for the first time in hours, voice slightly rough from misuse. Atsumu shoots him a thumbs up, and receives a shy one in return.

“Cute, but kind of anticlimactic. I wanted something dramatic!” Umeko sighs. She stacks her plate on top of Kiyoomi’s and leans back in her seat. Atsumu notices a smattering of tiny moles on the underside of her jaw and smiles. They were more similar than he realised.

“Dramatic? You really think I’m capable of dramatic?” Kiyoomi questions. He’s not wrong. “Maybe he is, but not me.”

“What is it, _National Insult Atsumu Day_?”

“That might as well be every day.”

Whilst the kids giggle at yet another jab directed at him, Atsumu casts a long look at Kiyoomi, who decides to also lean back and close his eyes against the beam of early evening sunlight that shines directly on his face. It’s almost unfair how lucky he got, being able to call  _ the _ Sakusa Kiyoomi, who may just as well be the most gorgeous man to grace the planet, his boyfriend. His skin always pleasantly tingles whenever the word forms in his mouth, because he’s a damn sap and can’t help but feel like he’s never needed anyone else the way he’s needed Kiyoomi. The mere notion of having him there as his boyfriend for months, or even years to come, makes him want to punch a wall. Completely out of adoration.

And then he opens his eyes against the breeze, and _oh_.

Atsumu can see speckles of blue in his deep grey eyes, shining brilliantly in the light. He’s smiling a little too, a slight upturn of the lips that whispers _I feel good here_. Atsumu had seen Kiyoomi smile like this before, and definitely more than once in the context of his family, but seeing it first-hand when he was surrounded by the people he truly loved most made his breath hitch in his throat, overcome with emotion.

In this moment, Atsumu thinks he wants days like this forever.

  
  


———

  
  


“So,” Kiyoomi tucks the buckle of his seatbelt into the slot. His hair is a little windswept, falling in imperfect ringlets. “What did you think?”

Nine hours earlier, Atsumu was under the impression that Kiyoomi was still the youngest in his family, and that they were attending a simple evening of wining and dining with all people over the age of thirty. Unknowingly, he dressed in gear and submitted himself as a gladiator, only to lose a fight to five children, all directly related to Kiyoomi. Children he didn’t know existed before today. 

Maybe, if he were to willingly admit it to himself, Atsumu would say he didn’t expect much. Or, he didn’t know what to expect. Kiyoomi was never good with the children from the sponsored teams at their matches, always found they were just _too much_ for his liking and didn’t take care of themselves the way adults did. And yet, here they were, having just bid goodbye to his family, who seemed like they had been elated to have spent time with them. 

Atsumu has an entire new perspective. He thinks he gets it now. He’s picked apart the weaving and figured out where Kiyoomi sits in this slight commotion he calls family. 

Umeko was clever. She possessed the same amount of wit as Kiyoomi, and the same level of skill needed to utilise it well. And utilise it well she did—Atsumu hasn’t flushed so much out of humiliation in _yonks_ , not even when his stupidly-great-at-banter boyfriend was shooting playful insult after playful insult at him during a spat. At least those ones were somewhat prompted, whilst this was purposeful and methodical. Something they also had in common.

Gota was quiet. He was a boy of a few words, but then again, so was Kiyoomi a lot of the time. He shared the mystery that was his towering height with him, as well. There was something alike in the way they carried themselves-- not shyly, but with nonchalance. Like an invisible sheet of confidence was thrown over them. They didn’t have to bring attention to it. They knew exactly what they were doing, and they had no trouble doing it without a fuss.

The twin boys were so much like what Atsumu remembers of a childhood with Osamu that it was almost bittersweet to watch. It was like viewing memories unfold before him, like they were acting out something of his past. As much as he saw himself in the rowdiness of their relationship, he could also see shadows of Kiyoomi within them. They were boisterous in ways that Kiyoomi could never bring himself to be, but their passion was clearly shaped from the same cookie-cutter. They set their mind to something, they get it done. They didn’t stop until they could feel satisfaction leaking from their skin through their sweat, their wrestling matches resulting in fulfilment and a sense of completion. If that wasn’t a replica of Kiyoomi’s drive, Atsumu couldn’t tell you what is.

Perhaps what Atsumu found the most astonishing, was how Kiyoomi let Akiko cling onto him like a damn koala like it was the most Kiyoomi-like thing he could be doing. Like he wasn’t reluctant with physical affection with everyone else he knew. 

But then he thought about how she exclaimed she cleaned her hands, full of pride, and sat in Kiyoomi’s lap like it was the most comfortable seat offered in the house. How later, when his legs were numbing from the weight and discomfort started seeping into his bones, he asked her to give him a break, and she obliged with no questions asked. 

How they all asked before they took steps. How they were cautious and understanding. How they knew what to say, what to think, how to act. 

How they were all uncannily similar to Kiyoomi in so many ways.

_ Oh. _

Atsumu really, _really_ gets it now. He gets it in the same way that he gets why the two of them make sense together. 

“It was good. Different to what I expected, but good.”

“Yeah?” Kiyoomi smiles, pleased with his response. “I’m really glad. I was worried the kids were going to be too much, but I think it worked out perfectly.”

“Ya know, I think I know why you’re so scarily close with them.” Atsumu blurts out suddenly, like uncontrollable word vomit. It’s not the most humiliating thing he could say, at least. 

Kiyoomi turns to him again with that raised brow look. This one is unreadable, Atsumu can’t decipher the silent words. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

He starts the car whilst Atsumu mulls over his thoughts, trying to phrase it correctly. 

“You all really… Mesh well. And I think it’s because they’re exactly like ya. All of ya sisters’ genes seemed to skip ‘em and they got the ones from you and your dad’s side. That’s my theory. That’s why you’re such a good uncle, ‘cus you understand them.”

“You really think I’m a good uncle?” Kiyoomi asks, sounding sincere.

“I said more than just that, but _of course_ , Omi. They seemed to really enjoy your company.”

He peeks at Kiyoomi and sees that sweet, sweet smile again. The one that makes him stupid with love. 

“You know, Akiko called you her uncle at one point, too. I think you made a lasting impression.” Kiyoomi’s hand works on autopilot, finding Atsumu’s and gripping tightly, like he’s afraid to let go. 

Atsumu’s brain effectively short-circuits right then and there. Kiyoomi laughs again and brings their hands to his lips, kissing Atsumu’s knuckles softly.

_Yeah_ , he could get used to more of this.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> WAAAAH thank you very much for reading!! I had so much fun writing this fic, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!
> 
> thank you endlessly to the atsumu kinnies & co server for their never wavering support, and to my best friend elif for reading over my work and listening to me babble on and on, even though you haven't watched hq. I appreciate you all so so much.
> 
> find me on twitter at @sakusauds, yell at me, talk to me about sakuatsu!!
> 
> thank you so much once again!! :-)


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